Game:Pick Up the Phone Booth and Aisle/yeah

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You call up the phone, and in your most assertive tone (you are a terrible liar and too pissed off), tell Wes:
"We already sent the pictures to my email, and we can forward them whenever to whoever we want. And unless you meet us near the bar in ten minutes with the phone and a nice sum of money, you'll be the new star of YouTube."
You slam down the phone triumphantly, "Isn't that right Sheila?"

The woman glances behind her and then meets your eyes with a confused gaze, her hand reaching into her purse. "I don't know what kind of crazy s*** you're on, but...I've got MACE!"

She wrenches the can from her bag, showering the air with a shimmering, burning mist then runs, past the Leggos, leaving a screaming trail of "Rapiisssssttttt!!" in her wake.

The pain is unbearable, you claw at your streaming eyes; the aisle and the booth are a blurry haze of silver and beige.
The booth... Oh no, Wes! You jump up, blindly fumbling your way through the door:
"Wes! Wes, Sheila's gone and done a bloody runner! The dirty little minx double crossed us!"
A tinny ringing cuts through the haze, snapping your mind back to reality.
"Wait..Who the %#@!'s Wes?!?"
A low metallic chuckle echoes down the line.
"Hey! Who is this? What's going on?" Vague clues flash across your vision: pasta, trolley, Wes...No. No Wes..goddammit brain.
The voice comes fainter now: "Let me answer your questions with another question: how many aboridigitals do you see modeling?" ..What? Wait, isn't that from-

*** You have successfully passed the Zoolander Fanatics Test ***

But wait...

You feel a tremendous wrench – the hand of God coming down to wipe clean the temporal chalkboard. The world dissolves, and then quickly floods back into existence, restoring its state as it was before you made your move.

But somehow, things aren't set up exactly the same as last time....

Pick Up the Phone Booth and Aisle/yeah

left

Late Thursday night. You've had a hard day and the last thing you need is this: shopping. Luckily, the place is pretty empty and you're progressing rapidly.

On to the next aisle.

The aisle stretches to the north, and back to the south. The shelves on either side of you block your view of the rest of the supermarket, with only the brightly colored aisle markers visible.

You have stopped your trolley next to the pasta section, bright plastic bags full of pale skin-tone shapes.

There is a brunette woman a few meters ahead, filling her trolley with sauces.